The Christmas Spirit
by E.J. Cady
Summary: A response to blumoone's Christmas challenge...
1. Chapter 1

The Christmas spirit if it had to be described in the human world is the inclination to be kinder, selfless, and generally hopeful for things like friends and family. How humans have survived so long with the capacity to believe that and the selfless motivations of an obese man, in a hideous red suit bouncing kids on his lap, is beyond me. So I don't try to understand them. I chalk it all up to the fact that the majority of the population has pinto bean sized brains and for the rest who've been graciously endowed with intellect—they're slightly more fuckable. I've tasted me some scrumptious idiots. Luckily intelligence doesn't affect taste. But, now I've gone and gotten off track, the topic was Christmas spirit. To add to the list of things humans don't know the very thing that people write holiday songs about or blame their gleeful disposition on is in reality a long legged pain in my backside. When Christmas arrives my sprite personality, if you can believe it, becomes a little colder for reasons that have nothing to do with the weather or the fact that I'm dead.

In supernatural circles her name is derived from a long forgotten language that only a handful of individuals can speak fluently. I'm not one of them nor do I aspire to be a linguist in all languages basically extinct so I'll give you the name she goes by, Tillany. You like it don't you? I know I did when I first heard it rolling off the tongue the way it does. The name was sexy and the woman was in a league of her own in all the best ways. I think I mentioned the long legs, but I haven't described the delectable line of her thighs or the slight jiggle of her backside when she's walking away. We had some good times for a mere second and then we tired of each other and then for reasons unknown we just didn't like each other anymore. I want to say it has something to do with one of us crossing a boundary—maybe someone got eaten or fucked I don't remember. What matters is the smoldering hatred that burns from the bowels of a dark place rearing up whenever she's near. I physically react when she's around and I pity anyone who doesn't keep their distance for the entire month of December. Which brings me to why I'm on the subject of Tillany and this whole stupid holiday— I think humans like to call it a twist of fate, another idiotic phrase that's haunted me for years, but Tillany walked into my life again. I should say she sauntered that's more accurate because when a woman saunters, run for cover or at the very least be on guard 'cause nothing good can come from the swing of her hips.

It's funny I hadn't seen her in years and to recognize her from behind I impressed myself. She was a memorable fuck if anything, it's almost a shame I hate her too much to ever cross that line again. Then there's the girlfriend/progeny. I suppose it should mean something that I put girlfriend before progeny but if you have enough time in your day to dissect it , don't, this story is ten times more interesting than worrying over which title I'm committed to most. I detest titles, but I use them to dumb things down for humans, but more recently I use them to satisfy Tara Thornton, the girlfriend. I suppose when you're brought up by a woman who cares more about Jack, Morgan, and Jose she might become self conscious of her worth. If I'd known Tara back then I would have advised her with something along the lines of: don't compete against a bottle smash it against your mother's skull then leave her in the pool of shards to bleed out and die with the bottle she chose you over. I'm cruel. Expect it. This is the only disclaimer you get. In my defense I care deeply for Tara, anyone or thing with the audacity to hurt her is automatically on my shit list. It's new to me, caring or rather showing it. I cared for my maker and he never demanded to hear it or see it, at least not in the way Tara wants or needs. So I occasionally step away from the warm bosom of my comfort zone and show her how much she means to me. Sometimes I show her in the most amazingly sentimental ways I won't discuss, 'cause the thought of it affects me physically and I'd prefer to keep down the Vietnamese nurse I had earlier.

Now that you know I'm taken, that I hate the Christmas spirit, and she's made a guest appearance again in my life I'll start with the where. It was a celebration. The bitch feeds on happiness and she came running to the only buffet of happy humans I had the unfortunate pleasure of being surrounded by. More outings like this and my reputation will be indefinitely slaughtered consorting with hillbillies and townsfolk. They should be running for the hills. One woman had the nerve to say Merry Christmas to me with an offering of eggnog. Tara's been teaching me about restraint. I've heard of it, vaguely remember using it as a human, but I suppose she's influenced me more than I thought because I didn't rip the eggnog sharing smiley face's head off and pour the drink on her headless body. I am seconds from starting a massacre just to give the room a change of atmosphere and I felt a hand on the small of my back. It's Tara's hand I know it immediately. She rubs me through my black dress, yes I wore black to a Christmas party. I was dying inside. Tara was wearing a gray and pink kaleidoscope dress I bought her two weeks before. I surprise her with gifts like that. Normally, surprises aren't my thing, but being the quick learner I am one makes these types of allowances to keep a happy home.

"Don't even think about it," she warns rescuing the glass of eggnog from my grip mostly likely aware of where it was headed.

"How long do we have to be here?"

"We haven't been her for five minutes," she didn't sound irritated only amused.

And yet it felt far longer than an eternity.

She grabs my hand and strokes the back of it with her thumb. It's meant to be comforting and she succeeds. It lasts until I hear ho ho ho coming from the other side of Merlotte's. How did I come to be here again? One look from Tara and I had my question answered. She was still young and not as cynical about life as she'd like for most to believe. If she were on my level we would've gone to a remote country that's never heard of Christmas and made plans to fuck and feed for the entire month to avoid the wave of Christmas cheer.

"You're beautiful."

"You've already said that."

"It's true."

"Tara, if you want to make this evening more tolerable for me, you'd better start by telling me something I don't already know."

"That takes the fun out of surprising you later."

My eyebrows rise hearing the distinct inflection of promise in her voice and I'm intrigued. Tara liked to experiment. I don't comment preferring for the slow enjoyable thrill my imagination conjures. My eyes roam and Tara pulls me with her and I begin to think she might want to mingle with the other vampires who look like they want to be there. The curse of mainstreaming where vampire's like Bill can live vicariously through a crowd of meat suits. If he really thought the life of vampire is so terrible he'd do himself a favor and stop adding nails to his cross and take a reflective stroll out in the sun.

"Merry Christmas."

Damn Sookie.

"Merry Christmas Sook," Tara unfortunately engages and ignores all my visceral attempts to get her attention so we can leave. How the mighty have have fallen.

"You look…very festive Pam," I can tell she's genuine and it's stabbing at my decreasing arsenal of patience.

"You look…" I tested a few variations of the end of that sentence in my head and decided none of them sounded appropriately restrained, "you're glowing with Christmas cheer." It wasn't a compliment, it was a fact, and therefore it didn't count.

There's that dumb look. Then the slow smile and the hesitant recognition "wow Pam, that's very nice of you."

"Settle down, just as long as we're not getting matching tattoos after this."

She engages Tara again and I slip away no more interested in their discussion than playing nice with the fairy. I had my limits. That's when I spotted those hips and knew who had come to this speck in Northern Louisiana. Off course she'd be drawn to the bubbliest merrymaker in the room. Jessica sat on the bar serenading a thin crowd of fans with a karaoke machine singing something about snow and sleighs. All Christmas songs were redundant, perfect for drunken karaoke lovers and progenies of Bill Compton.

"Pam!,"

Shit Jessica. Tillany's eyes found mine on her stool her fingers inching toward Jessica's unsuspecting thighs. Those fingers stopped and soon my space was indelicately invaded by the scent of her earthy perfume. She hadn't changed though, being immortal tended to do that.

"As I live and breathe," she circled me and I followed.

"Isn't that a shame?"

"I heard you made it down this way. I barely recognized you you're usually lodged up Eric's ass. Where is your maker?"

I gave her the short version, "he's not here."

"Pam you gotta join me," and here is the Cheeto with her singing machine in tow.

"Get that microphone out of my face or be prepared to walk funny in the very near future."

Like a good Cheeto she retracts her arm, but she doesn't go away, instead she repeats her question.

"No."

"But just one song," she practically whines holding up one finger and I consider very seriously whether to rip it off or not.

"No."

I think of Jessica as a baby or an undisciplined puppy. One look and she shuts her mouth or resigns trying to recruit me for one of her crusades. It shouldn't have needed to take a look however like I've made the mistake a time or two indulging her and I suppose it's spoiled her. Such a sentimental vampire just like her maker, they deserved each other.

"Come on Pam," Tillany is no longer content to stand on the sidelines and keep her mouth shut. She grabs a glass of eggnog off a passing tray. I know that tone and I dare her with a death glare I reserve for occasions like these. The Christmas spirit has a terrible sense of humor and a hideous power that enables her to manipulate anything. She was almost as bad as a witch and now I'm beginning to remember why we might have had the falling out. I've seen her make a room of distinguished republicans into a frat house on one Christmas before I picked my teeth with their conservative bones. Needless to say that was around the time we were on good terms. Tillany not only can feed on emotions she can feed them as well so if you're ever at a party and the idea of streaking or some other random notion gets passed around it's mostly likely she had something to do with it. The woman's good I'll give her that.

"One song Pam, you don't even have to sing it alone, we can do a duet," as if that made it all the better.

"Get in the spirit," I heard Tillany goad or more to the point she was telling me, like I was someone to order. The bitch had her Christmas lights twisted.

"Or what?"

"Tara'll love it."

Red really couldn't keep her mouth shut tonight. Tillany asked who Tara was, as expected, and Jessica obliges without a care in the world. She wouldn't survive much longer either by my hand or some lucky vampire who'd have the pleasure of ripping her traitorous tongue out. With my whole love story shared with the very last person in the world I wanted to know it Tillany had a gleam in her eyes. Nothing good would come from that gleam I knew and my shoulders tensed readying myself for her best shot.


	2. Chapter 2

I know this is late…..but this is me working with a mild hangover.

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As headstrong as we vampires are we aren't invincible. The sun burns us, love (I'm loathe to admit) can hurt us, and supernatural entities can fuck us over when they get the notion. It's not something our species likes to advertise since our very reputations have been built on a foundation of fear and mystery. I was readying for Tillany's best shot wasn't I? It never came. My girlfriend's timing depending how one looks at it was opportune. I feel her hand on my waist and I know it's meant as a possessive gesture. And I milk it dipping into her embrace standing proudly beside my lover and progeny.

"I'm Tara Pam's girlfriend," I picture her whisking me away from Tillany's clutches, even though I don't really need it, it's nice to be rescued. It makes for a great reason to thank her thoroughly later.

Tillany introduces herself as an old friend. I would have blatantly denied this if Tara hadn't cut her off from the rest of her lies and turned to me. "Dance with me," Tara orders in that silkily tone of voice she saves mostly for behind closed doors. I enjoy it when she cracks that little shell of inhibitions that this closeted town has helped her graft. Perhaps soon we'll have the conversation about travel and then I can show her all that she's missing staying in fucking Bon Temp.

I cut my eyes at Jessica and Tillany who've returned to their places at the bar resigning their karaoke for the sad excuse this place called house music. Stuffed in a little area near the pool tables was a band of inbred brothers I'd ever seen with long beards and matching bandanas with flying Reindeer.

She chooses a small space that I'm almost certain couldn't be called a dance floor considering how close we were to old humans eyeballing us from their plates. Tara put her hands around me. She meant to dance with me to this, "I appreciate the intervention, but I don't do Christmas music." I started to pull away and she pulls me tighter and closer and I can't really say I mind outside of Jethro and Auntie Em looking wide eyed and enthralled.

We end up dancing to Christmas music when it's beyond obvious Tara isn't going to relent. I slide my hands on her back, "this is stupid," the corner of my mouth rises a little.

"You know for someone who hates the holiday of Christmas you got a lot going for you this year."

"Like what?" I press.

"First and foremost a sexy, badass girlfriend who'll risk fucked up shit like the Authority to save you."

With a deliberate nod of my head I reply, "that's one."

"Secondly, you might even venture to say you've got friends here—you've got a home."

"Ok stop because it went downhill after the girlfriend."

Tara laughs. Which is strange in every way because I've never considered myself particularly funny, well I do, but my humor is often dry and dark and usually on another plane gliding over everyone's head. And yet for some reason I manage to make her laugh and I quite enjoy that kind of power.

"Lafayette, Sookie, Sam…they're my family and you're family by extension."

She's suddenly very serious and I swallow my next comment. The time for joking had unfortunately ended and Tara wanted to make a point. This holiday above all others seems to give everyone the license to be poignant and meaningful. I wasn't particularly comfortable with this line of conversation in such a large crowd around humans and the old people, but I stood there and took like a good girlfriend. Tara was handing me a free pass to her life. An amusement park of crazy was her life and mine as well and with our craziness combined we could have one of those little reality shows and give the world something to watch. Did I want this life? It meant attending more functions like these. Dancing only a few strides from exes glaring at us across the room, it meant dealing with all the bullshit that comes with relationships. Did I want this life?

"What are you thinking?"

My first instinct was to lie. No one ever wants to hear the truth.

"This sounds a lot like commitment."

"Well I think it's more realistic than an epic love story don't you think? Trouble finds us wherever we go and if something ever happened to me and….if you didn't have Eric. I know you don't care for humans or half fairy waitresses….but I want to know that you're going to be ok."

She didn't want me to be alone.

"This isn't to say you can't fuck shit up and hold your own in a fight…"

I kissed her. To reassure her, not, to reassure me that she was real—that everything about her was real as real as her intentions. Did I deserve this woman? Hell no. Did I want a life with her and whatever else came with being with her? Hell yes.

"Look at ya'll canoodling under the mistletoe," the man didn't miss anything which is why he's such a notorious gossip. What on earth would he have to say about his cousin and her beau on Christmas when everyone was recovering from the hangover of some very potent eggnog?

"What the fuck you talking about?" Tara addressed him in a custom of verbal slurs I've discovered is the way they communicate.

Lo and behold a fucking mistletoe. How we got under it I have a sneaking suspension we weren't standing besides old people for our health. Tara looked just as surprised and on a hunch I look to Tillany who has managed to steal the inbred band's mike, "for fuck's sake."

"Hey," Tara gets my attention and pulls me closer to the band. She's dead and yet she's so alive. She's cold and so warm. Look at me five seconds away from spouting poetry. When did I become hopeless? When I turned her I think. Nothing like I felt with Collin. I wanted Collin, but Tara was a bargaining chip I greatly underestimated.

She spun me to Tillany's upbeat song. I suppose I could do this for her. But cracking a smile is where I draw the line I don't care how adorable she looks when she's happy and dancing.

"This is retarded," I said when she pulled me in with our hands clasped and yet I was moving to the same music she was.

"This is…." she responded holding me to her slowing her movements and I responded doing the same, "this is," she repeated and I don't know what she would have said next. I just know that I was suddenly thinking this is what people make all the fuss about love. Now, I've lost myself in Eric his stature, his wealth, his strength, his whole aura of control is overwhelming attractive. And Tara barely a year old fearless in her own capacity and sexy in every way I…..Look at me I'm gushing. And I don't gush. So to save myself from complete and utter mortification I suggested we leave with a not so subtle kiss of how I wanted our Christmas celebration to end.

"Let's go home."

It was the best suggestion of the night.

"And where are you bitches going?"

Did he have a fucking radar? At the door holding a glass of whatever was responsible for his glassy eyes he and Tara shared a knowing look that I didn't consider at the time. "It's customary to unwrap your presents during Christmas."

"The naughty don't get on Santa's list."

"I have it on good authority he made an exception for us," Tara helps with my coat. "Merry Christmas."

There's that knowing look I should be suspicious about peeking at us over the glass, "ho ho ho."

Tara brushes her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. I'm already to the car when Tara's finally made it outside.

"I'm proud of you," she says when we're on the road to our home.

"What for?"

"You didn't suck anyone dry tonight."

"Believe me I was tempted."

"Still," Tara shifts in her seat drawing closer, "that deserves a reward."

I feel my body respond to her intonation and my imagination runs wild and my legs spread a little wider when I feel her hand on my thigh. She leans over and plants a sweet and incredibly chaste kiss on my cheek.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I ask when she returns to the passenger side seat.

The seatbelt latches with a poignant click and I know she'll give me no more satisfaction until she's ready. This was her game and my vagina, while feeling very playful, wasn't in the mood to be teased. It wanted to be tasted.

"Not yet," she answers cryptically. But, I'm not known for my patience especially when the very thing I want is only a few inches from me. I knew torture like I know the back of my hand and Tara was wading in it dangerously unaware of how fucking close I was to raping her. "Not yet," she says again as if she's reading my thoughts.

"You're getting very comfortable with this bossy bullshit."

"It's the only way to talk to you."

"It's not the only way," I purred.

I gives me a look and I know I won't be getting my way until Tara's ready. I like this side of her and she knows it.

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The life of a whore doesn't afford a woman much romance. A life as a companion doesn't require romance. But I never shed any tears because I wasn't like the other girls getting flowers on Valentines or being dined by a wealthy suitor and promised the world. Those women could keep their few seconds of romance, because I consoled myself with the knowledge that I was immortal and my life was meant for adventure. They were stuck with their one love and I could have as many as I wanted whenever I wanted. This was my power and it tasted so very fucking good. But what Tara's made me realize recently is an after taste I may have ignored before or just didn't notice. And now that I do I look back on those women and wonder if I'd been wrong all along belittling their once in a lifetime romances. Maybe, but it was more important to get Tara undressed and into my arms cold against my bosom to greet the new year in nothing but our birthday suits and the aroma of sex heavy in the air.

I got out first and we walked toward the two-story home we shared together. It was quaint, but livable. And through the window of our living room was Tara's pride and joy—a Christmas tree. I didn't get it when she was adamant about cutting one down herself. I still didn't get it when she wanted to decorate it on her own instead of throwing a string of lights on it and calling it a day. No, she wanted bows and glass ornaments like this was her first Christmas.

"Home sweet home," she got to my hand and unlocked the door. I followed only because I like the view of her ass in that dress. And when she caught I was unashamed and daring her to do something about it.

"What present do you want to open first?" she looks at the collection we've accumulated over the month each of us being very secretive about we bought the other. That's what makes this holiday tolerable the gift giving.

"That's new," I point to an ornament I put there myself.

Tara walks to it and studies it feeling the weight shift inside it. She gives me a questioning look and her mouth curves a little in anticipation. I sit at the corner of the couch admittedly nervous because I wasn't sure how she'd receive it. We were living together that was a surprisingly easy and natural adjustment, but inside that box was something I'd thought long and hard on whether I should share it with her not.

"It's beautiful," she says staring in the inside. She takes it out holding the simple ring between her fingers admiring it.

"It's the last thing left of my human life."

She stops admiring the ring long enough to stare at me and because I'm too nervous to meet her gaze I find my reflection in the tree and stare at myself in the blue tint of the ornament.

"I…you….fuck."

Tara's got enough decency to let me struggle on like an idiot and I do because I never rehearsed this part. Although, looking at her now I felt like I needed to explain the gift.

"I have memories from my past. They're not all blocked out. That," she pointed to the ring, "belonged to my mother and her mother before her. I kept it around for sentimental reasons. Some things are just harder to throw away."

"Pam."

"I don't want you to make a big deal out of this," I get up from the couch needing to move because that self conscious feeling was creeping in again. I hated it and yet there was for me to feel and wait impatiently for Tara's response or rather her acceptance of it.

"No one's ever given me a gift like this before."

"I expect I'll be the last one to ever give you a gift like this. I'm yours Tara. You know that right?"

"Put it on me."

"Are your fingers broken?"

Her expression was expectant, "I want the memory of you sliding it on my finger."

I sped towards her. She was startled because she didn't expect it and I was startled because I never pictured myself in the glow of a fucking Christmas tree putting one of the most precious possessions I have on the finger of Tara Thornton. There was a time where the very thought of ripping her throat out and watching the droplets sprinkle her surprised visage made my fangs pop. But they came out for entirely different reasons now.

"I'm yours," she held the ring up in the light after I put it on.

"You're mine," I put my hands around her waist and swayed with her to our own music as sappy as that sounds it happened. I, Pam, slow danced to an imaginary tune holding the vampire I wanted to spend the rest of my life with monogamously—for the most part. I don't think Tara would be opposed to threesomes or anything, but we'd cross that bridge when we needed to. For now, I wanted to hold her and I did. I even went a step further and showed her my own Christmas Spirit with the only Christmas song I knew.

"Rudolph the red nosed reindeer…."

I think I mentioned how much I love to make her laugh. The second she watched my lips form the words which made it important to slow the words down and take my time with them for her. The first verse earned me a giggle. And my reward for the rest of it was a very very merry Christmas on the floor bathed in tree lights naked and begging and looking forward to next year.


End file.
